


Abrasions

by mysteriousmice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysteriousmice/pseuds/mysteriousmice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WW1 au. John is the first British face that Sherlock sees after time spent as a prisoner of war.<br/>Johnlock, 3 chapters long.<br/>Sorry for any historical inaccuracies!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finally seeing another British face may have been the most relieving thing that Sherlock Holmes had ever experienced, especially after being held behind enemy lines ever since Germany and Austria-Hungary became major enemies.  
He had been called to Sarajevo to investigate the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand. It was a big job, especially for a private detective. Somehow, news of his skills had managed to travel across Europe. He was skilled, even he couldn't deny it.  
So he had started travelling through Europe with the intent of reaching Sarajevo, but was cut short when the war started and suddenly he was in the enemy's territory. After finding it difficult to convince those around him about his true purposes behind the border, Sherlock found himself taken as a PW. He had been nearly beaten and starved to death when he saw the brown-uniform and sun-tanned face of John Hamish Watson.  
It was all a blur as he was rushed out along with the others, John with arms around Sherlock's waist as they were led to a safer location.  
“A detective, hm?” John had inquired as he tended to Sherlock's wounds. “Sounds like a load of baloney to me.”  
“That's what they thought, too. I was summoned to investigate the assassination of the Arch-duke Franz Ferdinand.”  
“Well then you're S.O.L.” John smiled sadly. “Gavrilo Princip was the assassin. It's common knowledge now. They must have hired a replacement when you didn't arrive.”  
John cupped one of Sherlock's cheeks in his hand as he dabbed at the other with a wet rag. Sherlock couldn't help but stare up into the eyes of his, for lack of a better word, saviour. He was an attractive man; ordinary looking but, at the same time, not ordinary looking at all.  
“Wow, they must have really beaten you up in there. You've got more scratches and wounds than some of the soldiers we pulled out of there.”  
“They got particularly angry when I tried to fight back,” Sherlock smiled. He wasn't bad at combat at all, and if there was only one guard at a time, he could have easily taken him. But they learned fast and started keeping extra guards around just in case.  
“You tried to break out? You must be pretty vain if you thought that that would have had worked.” John laughed.  
“Oh, they had beaten most of the sense out of me by then through interrogations. They thought I was a spy.”  
“Well,” John said after looking up and down Sherlock's body once more, at all the bruises and abrasions and, in some cases, even small burns that covered him. “Looks like I'll need to spend some extra time on you... Remind me of your name again?”  
“Sherlock Holmes. And you haven't told me yours yet, either. Care to indulge me?”  
“Doctor John H. Watson.”  
“It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Dr. Watson. Even in... this situation.”  
“You can call me John if you'd like,” he says as he lifts up Sherlock's left arm. He feels a stinging pain shoot through his body and he cringes. “Can you try to bend this to me?”  
“No use, probably fractured-- aaghh..” John carefully sets his arm back down.  
“Mm, well... It's getting late. If you want, I could stay here for a bit, or I could let you get some privacy while you sleep.”  
“Ah, sleeping. Sleeping is boring.”  
“You want me to stay, then?”  
“Of course I do, I've been without proper human contact for ages. None of the other guys they locked up would talk to me, let alone even look at me.”  
“Well, I'm honestly not tired either. How about... how about you tell me about detective work back in London?” John layed down beside Sherlock and looked up at the canvas rooftop as he told him about the cases he'd solved back home in London, about the weasel-like Inspector Lestrade, about his annoying brother Mycroft, his experiments and his theories and his deductions. John listened in awe and fascination.  
They didn't even notice it when the whole camp had gone silent, and they stayed together, chatting about their lives back home. John had been alone himself, unsuccessful with women and in desperate need of money, so he had joined the military.  
“Maybe if you come home safely...” Sherlock murmured. “You could come live with me?”  
“Sounds like a plan,” John smiled.  
The two of them sat in silence for a bit before they trailed off to sleep right alongside each other to the sounds of night-time.


	2. Chapter 2

John was there again in the morning, holding what looked to be a sling, and sporting a swollen and bright fresh bruise on his cheek.  
“That bruise wasn't there last night,” Sherlock said upon waking.  
“Yeah. Punishment. Um. I should get your arm bandaged up and into this sling.” John helped Sherlock sit up and, with a bit of pain, managed to get his arm into the sling.  
“What-- ah. What were you being punished for?” Sherlock muttered out during the struggle.  
“For sleeping in here with you instead of returning to my bed.”  
“Oh. I'm... I'm sorry.”  
“Not your fault.”   
“Based on the colour and size, I'd say that particular contusion is quite painful,” Sherlock murmured. “Punched, hm? You should get some ice on that.”  
“How did you--?”  
“Detective,” Sherlock answered before John could finish the question.  
“Mm. Okay.”   
“Did they think we'd--”  
“Yeah,” John cut him off. He paused for a moment before he added, “They called me a filthy punk and hit me before threatening to replace me if it happened again.”  
John smiled sadly at Sherlock before he left to tend to others. Another soldier brought him some food and he ate it quickly and hungrily, even though it was less than desirable. He hadn't had much to eat during the time that he was in captivity. John returned again in the evening, sitting down beside him and asking him about how he was feeling.  
“Like I need a smoke,” Sherlock answered with a bitter laugh.  
John ended up curled up next to him again as they talked about everything and nothing.  
“I should go soon,” he said after a while. “Don't wanna get replaced.”  
“That would be a problem. I don't think I could stand having anyone else as my doctor.”  
“Most patients would say that they don't want a faggot for a doctor.” John was quiet for a moment before he leaned in and planted a small kiss on Sherlock's lips. “Goodnight then, Sherlock.”   
“...Good night, John,” Sherlock said as John stood and left. His pulse raced in his veins as he struggled to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

John wasn't there the next morning. Instead, another soldier helped him stand and led him off to a truck, along with the others that had been rescued.  
“Where's John?” Sherlock asked the soldier.  
“John Watson? Shooting up some Jerries, probably.”  
Throughout his entire journey back to London, the only thing he could think about was John. Was he dead? Alive? Safe? Was he replaced?  
Even once he was back in London, thoughts of John still floated through his head.  
“Is something wrong?” Molly Hooper asked him one day. She was a coroner. It was an odd job for a broad, but she was good at her work and she needed the money.  
“Nothing,” he had responded.  
He searched everywhere for people that may have known John. He asked around at Bart's, where he had been trained—found old friends of his, but no one that knew what he was up to then.  
The closest he came was Mike Stamford, a man who had known about John being in the war.  
“We went to school together,” he had said. “Still went out to drinks sometimes up until the war started. Last time I saw him, he told me he had enlisted. Nice man.”  
Eventually, Sherlock gave up on searching. He ended up talking more with Mike over the years, went out to bars with him from time to time and chatted.  
It wasn't until 1916 that he heard John Watson's name again.  
“Meet me at Bart's at 3:45,” the telegram had said. “I've found something you were looking for.”  
And so Sherlock Holmes had dropped everything he had and practically ran all the way to Bart's. It was about 3:00 when he got there, far too early, but he paced and paced and paced his way through the forty-five minutes it took Mike to arrive.  
Voices outside the door to the lab made Sherlock alert  
“Looks a bit different than when we studied here,” said a familiar sounding voice as a door opened. Mike Stamford walked in first, laughing about something, and then came John.  
John Watson froze upon seeing Sherlock, and Sherlock felt himself doing the same. John's eyes darted to Mike, who simply smiled and said something about leaving them to their business before exiting the room.  
“Sherlock?”  
“John.”  
There was only a moment of silence before John limped up to Sherlock, placing a hand on one on his shoulders.  
“I thought I would never see you again,” he said quietly.  
“You got shot, didn't you?” replied Sherlock. John nodded.  
“So,” said John. “Looks like we have some catching up to--”  
“221B Baker Street,” Sherlock interrupted.  
“What?”  
“Live with me,” Sherlock murmured softly before pulling John Watson into a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this one! It's a lot happier than Mary Morstan. I was going to kill John off but I changed my mind and made it happy.


End file.
